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The Chronicles of Eberron: Chapter 8
“These dragonmarks are most unusual, but no completely unheard of,” Sur’kil says as he examines Lia’s hand. “What are you talking about?” Lia replies. “In the course of previous research, I once uncovered a tale of a group of explorers of the Q’barron peninsula. Five of the members of this group were said to have all simultaneously developed the so—called aberrant dragonmarks in the course of the expedition. Such an event would be rare enough, but one true dragonmarked among them claimed to see her mark change in shape at the same time. What come of them, I do not know. Let me have a couple of days to research this further. For now you and your companion can rest before we set back off to South Khorvaire.” Lia and Durin both return to their separate cabins. Lia sits cross legged on in the center of her room, preparing for her daily meditation, but she cannot seem to find the concentration to do so. “What could these dragonmarks mean?” she asks herself. Lia stands up from her sitting position and paces over to a nearby window. She peers out it and views the limitless expanse of sea in which they sail on. “Could it be some sort of power from temple.” Lia truly fears the dragonmark upon her hand, but she smiles of how she can use it to her advantage. She knows that since changeling can’t possess dragonmarks, her identity will stay safe even from the wisest of wizards. *** It has been about two days since Lia and Durin have seen Sur’kil. He has been hard at work researching the possible cause to their dragonmarks, and now, finally, he has summoned them to his cabin to inform them of what he has learned. The ship seems ready to sail, its bound elemental churning the water behind it. Sur’kil is pensive, but he finally turns to the duo. “I have determined that this group of explorers which I spoke was led by one named Jheamast, a Sarlonan as yourself, Lia. No direct account hints at Jheamast or his band having visited the temple of Kha’shazul, but the congruence of his party’s manifesting the same strange marks that you have manifested seems clear. Jheamast was said to have sought a weapon for use against some foe in his homeland of Sarlona. It is my belief that he must have claimed the missing relic—the one referred to by those Emerald Claw thugs as the Dragon’s Eye—from the temple of Kha’shazul prior to your arrival. More than a thousand years prior, to be precise. If you are amenable, I would like to procure your service for another few weeks. I will increase your wages, providing you with and additional 500gp each.” As Lia hears Sur’kil speak, she notices that he seems to be hiding something. The ending to his speech comes to an abrupt end, almost like he wanted to continue but couldn’t. Lia contemplates if she should press him for information and, after a few short moments, she decides to. “Sur’kil, is there something else you want to tell us? Something seems to be troubling you.” Sur’kil looks to the floor, unable to look the party directly in the eyes. “Yes I suppose so. The full truth of what happened to Jheamast and his party is long since lost, but I have heard one rumor that I must share with you. Jheamast is said to have died in the Lhazaar Principalities some years after his time in Q’barra, but the Sarlonan’s companions who manifested these new and changed marks were all dead within a year of entering Kha’shazul. It is said that at least one was apparently consumed within by the power his mark bore. Dark legends surround many who carry the so called abberant dragonmarks, and these tales of Jheamast’s party could be no less fanciful. However, if the legends are true, discovering why Jheamast outlived the others might be your only chance of survival.” “Well, that is only a legend right. These dragonmarks couldn’t possibly be so powerful as to consume us, “Durin chimes in hopefully. “The legend resembles what has happened to you all too precise. I would not take any chances. We must find out what happened. Seeking clues of Jheamast’s activities in the principalities will no doubt take some time. This galleon remains charted for your use, and I will leave a supply of sending stones by which you can keep me apprised of your progress. I cannot accompany your, for I must make a way east in order to undertake further research of your new marks” Lia and Durin take care of some last minute errands in Adderport before they set sail. As they make their way through the bustling port town, they notice strange looking figures stalking them. Lia and Durin act normal but stay on guard. They return back to the ship and decide to set sail for the small town of Port Verge, one of the closest port towns around, to gather some information about the lost Sarlonan, Jheamast. *** The ship had a steady and uneventful trip to Port Verge Lia and Durin embark from the ship, swiftwind. They look around and notice that the port buzzes with the usual shuffle of sailors, merchants, and vendors. All large ships are moored out in the harbor to avoid the port’s shallow waters and strong tides. Only dories and other shallow—bottomed boots are able to dock near shore. The locals make a decent living for themselves running small launch services, ferrying passengers, sailors, and equipment to and from ships out in the cave. Gulls on the wharf swoop in and around skiffs bringing in their loads of freshly caught fish, eels, and reef clams. Farther inland, timber—frame and shingles seaside homes lie in scattered clusters, their whitewash peeling from the harsh sea winds. Cobbles streets weave between them, their crooked signposts directing a steady flow of ocean—borne transients seeking warm meals and hot baths after months at sea. Lia and Durin steadily wade through the crowd to the small inn of Bilge and Bulwark. They enter and the ground floor of the inn consists of a large common room and bar, including a stage for performers. The nightly entertainment features a variety of acts, though burlesque shows are the most popular. Two side rooms feature a gambling den and a small cockfighting pit. “Ah, bards it seems. They might know a thing or two about this Jheamast,” says Durin to Lia. The duo approaches the band of entertainers and listens to their stunning musical performance. The fiddler in the center looks to be older than the rest. Under him is a small jar labeled: tips. Lia digs inside her money pouch and puts a generous 100gp into the jar. The older men in the centers eyes widen and after the performance he sends Lia a gracious smile. “Thank you young lady! That was a very generous donation indeed. Is there anything in particular you want to hear? We will gladly play it.” “Yes actually. I want to hear a tale about the Sarlonan Jheamast.” “Jheamast? I don’t believe—“ His elven partner stops him, pulls him closer and whispers something into his ear. “Oh, now I remember. Yes it seems that I do know a little about this Jheamast. He actually used to be quite well known before he went back to Sarlona. Rumor has it that when he died he was buried with all his worldly possessions on the haunted island of Trebaz Sinara, in the northern principalities. The exact location of the tomb is unknown. Anyway that is all just rumors, but a young explorer named Eliam ir’Veldras found it not two years back. He sold it to a rich man named Vorgaard, whose mansion sits on the mainland above the straights.” “Why thank you. That information is very helpful” “No problem, young lady. Come back anytime, “the bard says before starting up his fiddle again. Lia and Durin exit the inn. “Well Durin, it seems like we are going to—“Lia is cut off as she spots one of the hooded men that have been keeping a close watch on the party race off toward the docks. “Vorgaard’s mansion. And I don’t think we’re the only ones, “Lia and Durin push through the crowd in a hustle, trying to make it to their boat before the unknown man gets to his.